LETTER XVIII.

Fort Augustus, August.

EMERGING from the pensile bowers of Glendoe, Fort Augustus, lying low on the brink of the lake, cheers the sight with its attendant village hanging over the river Oich. After so long a journey, chiefly over a barren and solitary waste, the sight of human habitations, and something like civilized life, is most grateful to the eye. Fort Augustus, however, needs not the aid of contrast, to recommend it. It is a pretty little lively looking garrison, with its ditches, glacis, &c. giving a miniature representation of a regular fortress. I can scarcely express the impression which the first view excited when descending a tremendous hill, it was presented, possessing such an air of picturesque singu

larity, in so insular a situation, and characterized by something like importance, though scarcely bigger than some of our villages. It stands on a small triangular plain, the apex of which projects into the Loch, and the base is formed by a gentle height, on which the village stands, The two sides of this picturesque little spot, are divided from the neighbouring grounds by the rivers Tarfe and Oich, each of which pours into the Lake, in the immediate vicinity of the Fort. The Tarfe issues from the bosom of the mighty Corryarich, which forms an apparently impassable barrier to the south; and descending through the narrow wooded, and highly romantic Glentarfe, wanders by a singularly woody amphitheatre, through a calm green valley

to lose itself in the Lake.

The Oich, of a different character, descends from Loch Oich, forming a fine appendage to Invergary, and after running through the quiet grove of Coultrie, surrounds, below the village, a most enchanting little islet; and making music amongst

the gravel, in that shallow circlet, passes under a respectable stone bridge; and when parallel to its neighbour, Tarfe, it mingles with the Lake.

Days might be pleasantly spent in exploring the sequestered glens, the grottos, and hanging grounds, alternately covered with woods and cultivation, which either retire in shades, or meet the eye in this favoured spot. On every side is found some object to dwell on with pleasure; but the matchless view of the Lake, whether it lies in quiet beauty, reflecting its lofty and varying banks, or whether in the agitation of a storm, it exhibits a degree of turbulence, more resembling a troubled sea, than an inland lake, in every aspect, it is one of the noblest objects I have ever beheld. On a little peninsula, near the discharge of the Oich into Loch Ness, there is a beautiful view of the Loch, from the windows of a house, once surrounded by gardens, and embosomed in a circle of lofty trees, of which some yet remain. The situation is peculiarly pleasant and pic

turesque. In this place, then occupied by one of the garrison staff, once dwelt an inhabitant fully awake to all its sublime and tranquil charms;* who knew no higher pleasure than to gaze, in a still bright summer evening, on the clear bosom of the Lake, and listen to the melodious blackbird, whose deep and mellow notes rose in emulative strife from the opposite groves of Glendoe and Inchardorch. Perhaps the scenery was the more soothing to my imagination, from knowing the delight which it had afforded her, at that age, when all nature wears, to its lovers' eyes, a look "of joy;" and she was indeed a true lover of nature.

Fort Augustus is said to derive its name from Frederic Augustus, Prince of Wales. The two sides were built in 1730, and destroyed by the rebels in 1746, but have since been rebuilt. One of the centinels

The inhabitant to whom I allude, was my much respected friend, Mrs. Grant of Laggan, the accomplished author of the ingenious and original "Letters from the Mountains."

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on guard informed me, the garrison contained 400 men; but the number stationary at present does not exceed thirty.

The governor's handsome house, the bastion, the rampart, the moat (now filled up), the drawbridge, with the soldiers pacing to and fro, drest in the full highland uniform, and whose grand military air is in character with the savage magnificence of the dark and frowning mountains, which in distance appear to touch the clouds, contrasted with all the sylvan beauties which repose in the bosom of these hills, resembled some of those places described in romance, and struck me with awe, as I surveyed the novel objects around me.

Looking down from the glacis of Fort Augustus, the eye commands the whole length of the Lake, twenty-four miles. On the south side, bordered by lofty and precipitous rocks, as far as the eye reaches, without any interruption except the hanging gardens of Glendoe, to which I formerly adverted. On the north, a softer and more varied prospect, forms a happy